


what baking can do

by elizaham8957



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bake Shop AU, F/M, Fluff, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY ELLIE, Humor, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, here we are, idk why I wanted to relive my hellish years of working in a bakery but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Dany slides the pastry over to him as the register beeps, coins clinking as she counts out the change. “Mm,” the man says, eyes closed as he takes a bite. “Hells, that is good.”“It’s an old family recipe,” Dany tells him. “They’ve been my favorite, ever since I was little.”The man swallows, still holding the sugary cake in one hand, tucking his wallet back away with the others. Dany tries not to watch the muscles of his arm flex under his long sleeve shirt too conspicuously.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 89
Kudos: 332





	what baking can do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esteri_ivy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteri_ivy/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLIE!!!! I wrote a dumb silly fic for you and it's three (technically four) days late but I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT REGARDLESS. 
> 
> Anyways I would like to take a moment to personally acknowledge ME because look at me I WROTE SOMETHING SHORT!! I'm also posting it at 1 am because hashtag disaster is the name of the game for me this month, clearly. I have about 234802 drabbles and a new chapter and a Halloween one shot going up this month that I am allegedly writing in the next two weeks while also sewing myself a Halloween costume to wear nowhere so. Don't expect me to get any better lolol. 
> 
> I genuinely can't tell you why I felt so compelled to write a bakery au other than clearly I wanted to torture myself by returning to my cupcake bakery employee roots. I wanted to own a bakery until I worked at one for three years and realized I despise no one more than customers and changed my mind and became an engineer, where I don't have to deal with entitled Karens who wanted to buy sixty cupcakes as a walk in client. Also for anyone who has also worked in the food service industry yes I acknowledge that it's completely unrealistic and false that these employees EVER have anything in semblance of a break. We're going with Dany is a kind boss, alright? 
> 
> Big shoutout to the Waitress soundtrack for powering me through this and providing a title, my beautiful beta Fer for cleaning this mess up in RECORD time, and for Ellie for being the best and most patient friend. Still not sure how you've put up with my bullshit for over a year now, girl, but god am I glad you have. Here's to another year of watching Gossip Girl instead of writing our fics and complaining about life together. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU GEM!!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/50507694748/in/dateposted-public/)

Sundays have always been Dany’s favorites. 

Owning a bakery is nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. There are always  _ those  _ customers to deal with, or massive special orders to fill, or loads and loads of paperwork to do. Coordinating deliveries from suppliers and balancing the checkbooks and the eighty million  _ other  _ things she’s responsible for sometimes suck the joy out of her job. Whenever customers come in and Daenerys happens to be manning the counter, she always laughs when they comment that working somewhere like this must be a dream. 

It is her dream, and it has been from the time she was a little girl, learning to bake lemon cakes at her mother’s side. Sometimes, everything else involved with owning a bakery makes her forget that. 

But Sundays— they remind her why she loves what she does. 

Sundays are her solo bakes, the days she comes in before the sun’s even risen to bake everything they’ll sell all day. She makes all the doughs, mixes all the batters, gets everything into the sets of industrial ovens on the far wall, flour dusted across her cheeks and vanilla staining her fingertips. The smell of freshly baked pastries and whipped buttercream, the haze of powdered sugar that hangs in the air as early morning sunshine streams through their front windows— if Daenerys could bottle that, she would, and glance over at it every time dealing with suppliers or finances or obnoxious customers makes her question all of her life choices. 

This Sunday is an absolutely  _ splendid  _ fall day, like something straight out of a movie. It’s nearing their closing time, but it’s not late enough in the season that the sun sets by four in the afternoon, so the changing leaves are still visible outside the picture windows. The late afternoon sunlight makes the whole shop glow golden, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. People always ask if they do that on purpose, if they have diffusers hidden somewhere, but it’s truly just a consequence of all the baking. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, looking up from cake she’s finishing up for a late-pickup special order. Her best friend raises an eyebrow at her, that knowing look in her eyes. “Why are you still here?” 

Dany crosses her arms, giving her friend a look. “It’s so close to the end of the day,” she argues. “I might as well stay till close now.” She has Mondays off, so somehow on Sundays she always ends up staying late. “Besides, if we get swamped, I don’t want to leave you all alone.” 

Missandei laughs. “Mm, because you know how often we get swamped at four in the afternoon on a Sunday.” 

“Oh, finish your cake,” Dany teases. As if to prove her point, the front bell rings, the door opening. “See? I’ll handle the customers.” 

Missandei grins at her. “Whatever you say, boss.” 

Victorious, Dany turns around, schooling her teasing smile into something calmer and more professional. “Hi,” she calls out to the customer in question, who looks up at her voice. 

Dany freezes, eyes widening at the sight of the man in front of her. 

_ Gods,  _ he’s handsome, she thinks, trying to be subtle as she takes in his dark curls and bearded jaw, fair skin and full lips. He meets her eyes, and Dany’s heart skips a beat, lost in the warm, stony grey of them. 

_ Professionalism,  _ she chides herself, smiling pleasantly. “What can I help you with?” 

The customer’s pretty brow furrows, his eyes darting to the pastry case before him. “Er, I’m not quite sure, really,” he admits, and Dany does her very best not to swoon at the sound of his northern accent. “I’m new in the area,” he says with a shrug, looking back up at her. “I was just takin’ a look around.” 

“Welcome, then,” Dany says, and his lips tick up just the tiniest bit, the hint of a smile playing at them. “Well, take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. I know we have lots of different options.” 

The man nods, surveying the case again. “You really do,” he says, and Dany grins proudly. It’s a lot of work, having such an extensive menu, but she prides herself on offering such a wide selection of pastries and desserts, specialties from every corner of Westeros. 

He’s silent a moment, before looking up again to meet her eyes. “What do you recommend?” he asks, and Dany smiles easily. 

“The lemon cakes, definitely,” she says. “You can’t go wrong with anything, but they’re our best seller. We’re famous for them, actually.” 

The man’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” Dany nods, pointing over to the shiny plaques on the wall above the register with the bakery’s name,  _ Red Door Sweets and Pastries,  _ engraved into the smooth metal.

“We’ve won Best Dessert from the King’s Landing Food Journal three years in a row now for those,” she says. The customer nods in appreciation, looking impressed. “And we’ve actually just been nominated for a fourth.” 

“Well, I guess I have to try one then, aye?” Dany grins, slipping on a glove and grabbing a deli tissue before taking one from the case for him. He follows her down to the register, taking out his wallet to pay for it. 

Dany slides the pastry over to him as the register beeps, coins clinking as she counts out the change. “Mm,” the man says, eyes closed as he takes a bite. “Hells, that  _ is  _ good.” 

“It’s an old family recipe,” Dany tells him. “They’ve been my favorite, ever since I was little.” 

The man swallows, still holding the sugary cake in one hand, tucking his wallet back away with the others. Dany tries not to watch the muscles of his arm flex under his long sleeve shirt  _ too  _ conspicuously. 

“So you own this place, then?” he asks. Dany nods again. 

“Yes, I do. I’m Daenerys,” she says. The man smiles, and  _ gods  _ his eyes. She thinks she could get lost in them forever. 

“Good to meet you, Daenerys,” he says, nodding a bit. “I’m Jon.” 

He finishes off the lemon cake, licking his lips afterwards, and seven hells, is he doing this on purpose? In all honesty, Dany really thinks he isn’t. He’s just  _ naturally  _ infuriatingly attractive. 

“Well, I best get going,” he says, and she thinks she sees a hint of sadness in his eyes at the words. “Thanks for the recommendation. Those really are delicious.” 

“Thank you for stopping in,” she says. “Hopefully we’ll see you again.” 

“Aye, definitely,” Jon says, waving a bit as he turns and leaves the shop, that little smile of his still stuck in Dany’s mind even after he’s gone. 

“Others take me, he was  _ handsome,”  _ Missandei says as soon as the door closes, and it’s just the two of them again. Dany turns to her friend with a knowing look on her face. 

“He was, wasn’t he?” She grins even wider. “And he liked my lemon cakes.” 

Missandei shrugs. “He has good taste, clearly. Only an idiot wouldn’t like your lemon cakes.” 

“Mm, fair,” Dany says. The bell rings again, and Dany turns around eagerly, but it’s just the woman come to pick up the cake Missandei had just finished. 

They close up not much later, the two of them walking around back to the little staff parking lot. But even the entire drive home, Dany can’t get that handsome stranger’s face out of her head. 

_ Jon.  _ She hopes he’s true to his word, and that she does see him again. 

***

Barely even three days later, Dany learns he wasn’t just placating her when he’d said he’d be back. It’s earlier in the day today, and he has a friend with him, but still— here he is again, in the flesh. 

“Hello,” Dany calls from the back when she hears the door chime, looking up from the cupcakes she’s frosting. There’s definitely buttercream on her cheek, but it’s been such a bloody busy day so far that she can’t bring herself to care. It’s not even ten in the morning and they’ve already had to rebake. 

Tyene is busy with a fussy woman and her son who will  _ not  _ decide what kind of cookies they want added to their pack, so Dany puts down her piping bag, walking to the counter. When she catches sight of who it is, she swipes at her cheek furiously, wishing she hadn’t been as careless with the frosting. 

“Hi,” Jon says, that little smile tugging at his lips again when he sees her. The way he’s looking at her, he seems unsure if she recognizes him. Dany wants to laugh at the thought— as if she could ever forget a face like his. 

“Jon, right?” Dany says— she can’t come across as  _ too  _ creepy. They’d only met for a matter of minutes, after all. But his eyes light up, smile growing a bit wider. 

“Aye,” he says. “That lemon cake was so good, I couldn’t stay away long.” 

Dany laughs. “Clearly.” She glances at the man to his side. Jon’s friend is nowhere near as good looking, but he has a kind smile, peering around the shop curiously. “So good you told your friends?” 

“Oh, er, this is Sam,” Jon says, the other man waving at Dany. “And aye, that’s about it. He wanted to try somethin’ so award worthy.” 

Dany reaches for the case, plucking out two lemon cakes. She’s not sure if he’s being genuine or just trying to flatter her, but either way, she’ll take it. “Did you want to try anything else?” she asks. Jon bites his lip, surveying all the desserts, and her stomach swoops. 

It’s probably bad to be fantasizing about a customer, she reasons. How wildly unprofessional is it to be thinking about biting that lip herself? 

“That tiramisu looks delicious,” Sam says. “And, Jon, look. You love apple turnovers.” 

Jon’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Aye, alright, box them all up.” 

Dany grins as she gets a pastry box for them, placing the desserts inside. Sam wanders down to the register, looking at the plaques hanging proudly on the wall next to it, but Jon lingers as she finishes packaging their pastries. 

“Do you work every day?” he asks, and a thrill shoots through her at the look in his dark eyes, like he’s just as captivated with her. 

“Almost,” she says. “Every day but Monday.” 

He smiles just a bit. “That doesn’t sound like it leaves much time for yourself.” 

_ No, but if you were to ask me out, I’d certainly make time,  _ she thinks. “Well, I love what I do, so it’s worth it,” she says with a shrug, tying up the box. “And I’ve always managed to find time before. When necessary, of course.” 

Jon’s lips tick up a bit more, his gaze just as heated as hers. She  _ can’t  _ be the only one that feels this, the easy chemistry between them. “That’s good to know,” he says. His fingers brush hers as she hands him the pastry box, and another bolt of electricity shoots through her, just from the barest amount of contact. 

“Jon,” Sam says, apologetic. “We have to get back. Our break’s almost up.” 

Jon’s face falls just a bit, but he nods, following Dany down to the register. “Do you work around here?” Dany asks. Jon looks at Sam almost… uncomfortably, she thinks, which is odd. 

“Aye,” Jon says, giving her that little smile again. “Just down the street. Er, how much is it again?” 

Dany drops it as he counts out cash for her, but tucks the knowledge that he works not too far away in her mind. Hopefully that means he comes in more. And hopefully  _ that  _ means eventually he’ll pluck up the courage to ask her out. 

Or she could ask him, really. Either way, Dany’s not picky. 

“See you around, Daenerys,” Jon says as he and his friend leave the shop, and that lopsided grin he gives her— already she can’t wait to see it again. 

***

Jon becomes a regular over the next few weeks, always coming in and trying something new. It’s a good thing that he clearly works out, because otherwise Dany is fairly sure all the pastries he’s been consuming would have dire consequences on his waistline. 

“I dunno, what d’you think?” Jon asks her, leaning against the counter. Generally she hates when customers do that, but it brings him closer to her, and she can see the flecks of silver in his gorgeous eyes, so it’s worth it, she thinks. 

“It’s a tough choice,” Dany says with a shrug. “How do you feel about pumpkin?” 

Jon shrugs. “It’s good, I suppose.” 

Dany nods towards the case. “I experimented with pumpkin cinnamon rolls and cream cheese glaze this morning. We don’t generally sell those, but I was in an autumn mood.” She smiles at him, not missing the way his eyes flick down to her lips briefly. “Who knows when we might have them again.” 

“Alright, you’ve sold me,” Jon says. Dany fishes one out of the case for him, handing it over. This time, when their fingers brush, Jon lingers there a moment longer. 

“Damn, this is good,” he says, and Dany grins again. He always praises her baking, but it never seems like a come-on— it always feels genuine, like he truly does love whatever he’s tasting. 

“You really got the balance of cinnamon just right,” he says, licking his fingers to rid them of glaze, and Dany almost moans out loud. “It’s perfect. Not too overpowering. And it’s still so nice and fluffy. Generally pumpkin makes things so dense.” He frowns, taking another bite, and swallowing. “Are there pecans in that?” 

Dany nods. “You certainly know your desserts,” she says, quirking an eyebrow at him. Jon shrugs, looking a tad embarrassed. 

“My mum loved to bake, when I was little,” he confesses. “Some of the only memories of her I still have.” 

“Mine as well,” Dany says, her heart thumping, because she knows the pain of that loss. “She would have loved to see me now. Running a bakery, just like I always talked about when I was young.” 

“I’m sure she would be proud,” Jon murmurs, leaning just a bit closer to her. “I mean, look at this place. It’s incredible.” 

Her breath catches at that, a smile tugging at her lips again. Every single thing she finds out about this man just makes her like him more. He’s not just a pretty face that drew her in— well, of course, at first he was. But Dany’s discovered now that she likes talking with him, debating what pastries he should try, finding out little bits about him while he leans against her counter. Everything about him feels…  _ special.  _ Makes her heart beat a little faster. 

“I hope so,” Dany says. Jon’s free hand slides across the counter, covering hers. The warmth of his palm on top of her hand is too much, and  _ gods,  _ she really wants to lean across the counter the rest of the way and just kiss him,  _ finally.  _

“Uh, Dany? I have a customer asking about availability for an order next—” Dany turns as Myrcella comes out of the back office with the phone in hand, freezing at the sight of her and Jon. 

“Sorry,” the girl says, looking between the two of them, flustered. “I can come back—” 

“No, it’s fine,” Dany says, sighing. “Tell them I’ll be with them in a moment.” 

She turns back to Jon, just a bit of sorrow in his eyes. “Duty calls?” he asks, and she nods, shoulders sagging. 

“Unfortunately so,” she says. “My work never ends, I’m afraid.” 

Jon pushes off the counter, the muscles in his arms flexing, heat coiling in her belly at the sight. “You should add those pumpkin rolls to the menu for the fall,” he tells her. “They were bloody brilliant.” 

“I’ll consider it,” she says, biting back a smile. “See you soon, Jon.” 

“Aye, I’ll see you soon,” he echoes, grinning a bit.  _ “Dany.”  _

She rolls her eyes at him, but gods, she loves the way the nickname sounds on his lips. 

It takes forever to finish up with the customer Myrcella had on the phone— why people think they can call barely a week in advance with an order of over a hundred cupcakes, she’ll never know— but by the time she reemerges from the back office, all of the pumpkin cinnamon rolls are sold out. Missandei is at the back bench, slicing apples for their turnover filling, while Myrcella rings out another customer. 

“I think Jon was right,” her friend says, and Dany turns to her, eyes wide. “You should add the pumpkin rolls to the menu for the rest of fall.” 

“Dei,” Dany says, feigning offense. “Were you  _ eavesdropping  _ on us?” 

Missandei laughs, her eyes twinkling. “Dany, please,” she says. “Watching the two of you shamelessly flirt is the highlight of my days.” Her friend arches an eyebrow. “Is he ever going to ask you out?”

“Gods, I hope so,” Dany says, leaning against the table. She reaches over and snags an apple slice from Missandei’s pile, popping it in her mouth. “I keep thinking maybe he will and then he  _ doesn't.”  _ She eyes her friend, fear suddenly gripping her heart. “I mean… I’m not imagining this, right?” 

“Oh, seven hells, no,” Missandei says. “He’s so clearly into you. And  _ you’re  _ so clearly into him.” Dany’s cheeks heat at that, and she glances down at the bench, but there’s really no denying it. 

“I don’t know,” Dany says, peeking at Missandei through her lashes, but her friend’s smile is encouraging and warm, so she keeps talking. “I really like him. He’s sweet, and he’s funny, and he—” 

“Keeps complimenting your baking skills?” Missandei interrupts. Dany laughs. 

“Yes, well, that’s certainly a plus.” 

“I’m happy for you,” Missandei says, bumping her with her shoulder. “You know, you deserve to have somewhat of a life outside this shop.” 

“Hey,” Dany says, looking affronted. “Don’t our Friday movie nights count as a social life?” 

Missandei laughs. “Not even close, love.” 

***

Another week comes and goes, and  _ still  _ Jon doesn’t ask her out. Dany’s beginning to wonder if maybe she should just suck it up and do it herself, but luckily, Missandei comes into her afternoon shift on Tuesday with something to distract her from her love life woes. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, and the look on her friend’s face— instantly, Dany is worried. “Have you seen this yet?” 

Missandei’s holding out her phone, and Dany squints at the screen, trying to make out the title of the article her friend has pulled up. “Um, no?” she says, taking the phone, holding it closer so she can actually read the words. “What is it?” 

“It’s an article by Tyrion Lannister,” Missandei says, and Dany’s brows raise at the mention of the acclaimed writer for King’s Landing Food Journal. Dany’s met him before, a few times— after all, he’s one of the main judges who decides what establishment gets the prestigious award that she has three of on the wall. 

“And?” Dany says, still skimming the article. Missandei looks physically pained as she watches her. 

“And he’s gushing about some other bakery that’s in the running for our award.” 

_ That  _ catches her attention. “What?” she says, focusing more intently on the words. “But we’ve won three years in a row now!” Dany knows winning awards isn’t the most important thing, but getting them for something she’s worked so hard towards, something that she knows would make her mother so proud— well, she doesn’t exactly want to end her winning streak now. And she already knows how she’ll rearrange the wall to fit the new plaque. 

“Yes,” Missandei says, finger jabbing at the phone screen. “He’s going on about the apple turnovers at some place called  _ Winter Rose Bakery.”  _

“Winter Rose Bakery?” Dany says, brow furrowing. “I’ve never even heard of them. Where did they come from?” 

Missandei shrugs. “They must be new. The article says they’re right around the corner.” 

“Hm,” Dany says, closing the article and opening maps. She types the name in— sure enough, it pops up, barely a five minute walk. There’s a link to their website, so she of course clicks on it as well. 

Their menu is there on the home page, along with pictures of their pastry case. Right in the middle is the dessert Tyrion was raving about— their bestseller, the page claims: Weirwood Apple Turnovers. They’re in the shape of the wide, blood red leaves, perfectly golden brown and sprinkled with coarse granulated sugar, making them sparkle as if they’re dusted with frost. 

“Well, they do look pretty,” Missandei says. “But I’m sure they don’t hold a candle to your lemon cakes.” 

“They better not,” Dany says, brow pinched. “I want that award again.” 

The front bell rings, signalling the entrance of a customer. Dany pushes aside thoughts of silly awards, smiling at the old woman who’d just entered as she heads to the counter. 

Still, by the time lunch rolls around, Dany can’t stop thinking about the Winter Rose Bakery. Missandei can tell, clearly, because she gives Dany a look, evidently fighting back a smile. 

“Do you want to just go and scope it out?” Missandei says. “Try this apple turnover? Put your mind at ease?” 

Dany exhales, relieved. “Yes, please,” she says. Myrcella and Tyene are both here anyways— the shop will be well covered for the fifteen minutes it takes to do reconnaissance. 

The Winter Rose Bakery is down the street and around the corner, tucked up next to a flower shop with windows draped fully in red. It looks different than her place, Dany thinks as they walk inside. Instead of light colors and big glass windows, it’s warm, dark wood, rich colors on the wall. It feels cozy, whereas Red Door is open and airy. She can smell their apple turnovers from the doorway. 

Missandei gives her a look, and Dany nods, the two of them moving up to join the line before the pastry case. It’s a little less busy than her shop was when they left— that puts her more at ease too. 

“Hullo,” the man at the counter says, giving them a dazzling smile. “What can I get for you?” 

“We’ll have two of the… apple turnovers,” Dany says, eyeing the tray in the case. They look just as pretty in real life as they did on the website, she notices, dismayed. The man nods, grabbing sheets of deli tissue to take out the desserts and handing them over. Dany gives him a bill in exchange, Missandei smiling at her in gratitude. 

Dany figures it’s the least she can do for her best friend, paying for her dessert, seeing as the other woman humored her by coming on a scouting mission. 

“Here’s your change,” the man says, handing her back a few smaller bills. “Thanks so much. Have a great day!” Dany balances the pastry as she attempts to stash the bills back in her purse, the server turning back towards the shop. “Hey, boss, we’re almost out of turnovers.” 

“Aye, we’ve got a batch comin’ out of the oven in a minute,” Dany hears, and her head whips up at the sound of this alleged boss’s voice. “Thanks, Satin.” 

“No,” Dany whispers, heart racing in her chest. But sure enough, standing there behind the counter, apron slung around his neck and sugar on his hands, is Jon.  _ Her  _ Jon. 

This has to be some sort of weird fever dream, Dany thinks immediately. What other explanation can there be for Jon to be standing behind the counter of another bakery, after coming into hers almost daily for weeks on end? But then she realizes, and her vision goes red. 

It’s at that moment that Jon seems to notice her as well, eyes going wide at the sight of her. “Dany,” he says, completely shell shocked. “What are you doin’ here?” 

“What am I doing here?” she spits, heart pounding in her chest, but this time, it’s not because of the man before her. Well, it is, she supposes, but not for the usual reason. No, this time it’s because she’s so blinded with rage she can hardly form sentences. 

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” she demands, though intrinsically, she already knows the answer. She just doesn’t want to admit it out loud. 

“Er,” Jon says, and now he looks embarrassed. “I, uh… I own this place.” 

“You do,” she says, hands falling to her hips. Beside her, kind, gentle Missandei looks just as enraged. “That just slipped your mind, all the times you’ve been in  _ my shop  _ in the past weeks?” 

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” Jon says, brow pinching, and Dany hates that he  _ does  _ look guilty. Still, too little, too late. “I never meant—” 

“What? To  _ spy  _ on us?” she demands. “I find that extremely hard to believe. You just  _ happened  _ to stumble upon our shop and inquire about the desserts that won us the same award we’re both nominated for now?” 

Jon frowns, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doin’ the same thing now,” he snaps back. “You just came in here and bought our best selling pastry.” 

“Yes, but I wasn't going to  _ continue coming in daily  _ for the next few weeks!” She laughs, incredulous, because that justification is the worst excuse she’s ever heard. “Or should I start making daily trips, and eat my way though your menu as well? Just to know what I’m up against?” 

Jon opens his mouth to say more, but Dany’s has enough. Gods, she can’t believe she was stupid enough to believe he might really like her. No  _ wonder  _ he never asked her out. No wonder he knew so much about pastries. Her heart aches, the anger giving way to betrayal. She feels silly and used, standing here and staring at Jon. 

“And here I was thinking you were flirting with me,” Dany says, shaking her head in disbelief. “But no, you just wanted to get me to talk. Well, I hope you enjoyed all the intel you got. I never want to see you near Red Door Sweets again.” 

Jon’s jaw drops, and his shock just reignites the fire within her. What did he  _ think  _ would happen? “Dany, wait—” he starts, but she’s had enough, fixing him with a withering glare that immediately silences him. 

“I hope you know—” she says, jabbing a finger at him, “that no matter  _ what  _ you did, it doesn’t matter. I’m still going to win that award, because my shop is better, and you  _ know  _ it, clearly.” She links arms with Missandei, scowling at him once more, just for good measure. 

“Goodbye, Jon,” she says, she and Missandei storming out of the shop. 

“That  _ arsehole!”  _ Dany spits the moment they’re on the sidewalk, clutching the apple turnover in her hand too tightly. “I can’t believe him!” 

“I never would have imagined,” Missandei says, shaking her head. “Never in a million years would I expect that.” 

“What kind of person  _ does that?!”  _ Dany yelps. “Once, sure. Even maybe twice. But he’s—” Dany shakes her head, vision red with rage again. “I think he’s tried every single thing we sell in the past month. How does he live with himself?” 

“I don’t know,” Missandei says, pulling open the door to Red Door for Dany, following her inside. “But just think how much more satisfying it will be to win now, knowing  _ he’s  _ what you’re up against.” 

Dany frowns, looking at the forgotten pastry still in her hand.  _ “If  _ we win,” she says glumly. “We don't know. This could be amazing. Tyrion Lannister seems to think so, after all.” 

“Well,” Missandei says, shrugging. “We went all the way over there. We might as well try them.” 

Dany sighs. “I suppose you’re right.” She raises the pastry to her lips, taking a tentative bite of it. 

“Oh, others take me,” Dany mutters, grimacing. 

The bloody thing is fucking delicious. Of  _ course.  _

***

Another week passes, and not once does Jon attempt to come back to her shop. 

Dany hadn’t been sure if he’d truly heed her warning. But he seems to have taken her seriously, because she hasn’t seen him once. 

There’s a part of her that misses him, she finds. A part of her heart that yearns for that easy conversation between them as they’d flirted over pastries, the sparkle in his beautiful gray eyes as they’d met hers. 

“It’s so stupid,” Dany says to Missandei, the two of them on her couch for their traditional Friday night movie, a very full glass of wine in Dany’s hand. “I shouldn’t  _ miss  _ him, right? He was spying on us! He’s our competition!” 

“Mm,” Missandei hums. “Probably not. But, well…” she shrugs. “Clearly you liked him a lot.” 

Dany groans, dropping her head on her best friend’s shoulder. “I did,” she admits. “I  _ do.  _ I don’t know. I’m furious at him, but I still want to see him again.” She’s probably a little too drunk for this conversation, but whatever. It’s not like Missandei is going to judge her for her inner turmoil and ramblings. 

“I’m sorry, love,” her friend says, hugging her tight. “This sucks.” 

“It really does,” she says. “And honestly— if he’d told me he’d owned another bakery, I wouldn’t have even cared! It probably would have made me like him more, in all honesty. Knowing he understands that part of me as well.” She sighs dejectedly. “But not telling me, asking about all our products… playing me for a fool and gathering  _ intel…”  _ Dany groans again, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why did he have to go and be such a prat?” 

“Men are idiots, and useless,” Missandei says decisively. Dany groans, nodding in agreement. 

_ “Truly,  _ they are,” she says. She’d thought Jon was different when she’d met him, but clearly, she should have known better. 

“Missandei,” Dany says with a dramatic sigh, which is probably the fault of the wine. “Next time a handsome customer comes into the store, lock me in the back office so I don’t accidentally fall in love with an undercover rival bakery owner, would you?” 

Her best friend laughs, hugging her tightly. “If you insist.” 

***

Another Sunday dawns, late autumn sunlight warming the shop, and Dany once again finds herself in the kitchen far longer than she should be. 

Missandei, because she’s an  _ angel,  _ is in the back storage room putting away the supply shipment that had come in that morning, leaving Dany alone to man the front. She ruffles through special order forms while keeping a lazy eye on the front door, sketching out cake designs in her mind, attention captured by color schemes and gumpaste rose layouts and if she remembered to reorder sugar pearls. She barely looks up when the bell rings again, signalling someone’s entered the shop. 

And then she does. And there is Jon, the golden sunshine like a halo behind his dark curls. 

Dany  _ hates  _ that her immediate reaction isn’t anger. It’s excitement, because gods, she’s missed him. 

_ Snap out of it,  _ she scolds herself, crossing her arms. 

“Jon,” she says, keeping her tone level as she moves towards the case. “I told you I never wanted to see you here again.” 

He nods, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, and when his eyes meet hers— she can tell, right in that moment, that he’s missed her just as much. It helps tame her anger just a bit. 

“I know,” he says. “But I couldn’t… I had to apologize.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Go on, then.” 

He sighs in relief, like he can’t quite believe she’s giving him the chance. “It was so wrong, Dany,” he says. “I never should have kept comin’ back. Or I should have just told you who I was. I never meant to…” he trails off, raking a hand through his curls, looking at her desperately. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jon tells her. “And if you never want me to come back, I understand. And I’ll respect your wishes. I just… I wanted you to know.” 

Dany crosses her arms, hesitantly walking around the case, until she’s standing right before him. She’s never been without a counter or a pastry case in between them, she realizes. Her heart thumps at the closer proximity. She can smell his cologne, like fresh snow and pine trees, almost hidden under the scent of baked goods. 

“You shouldn’t have come back,” she says, and Jon’s face falls. “I mean, honestly, Jon.  _ Weeks,  _ you spied on me. Got me to tell you all about my pastries and what’s in them. Should I expect a Winter Rose version of everything on my menu to appear on yours now?” 

“No, you shouldn’t,” he says, brow furrowing. “Aye, I admit, the first time I came in here— even the second, when I brought Sam— it’s because we wanted to know what we were up against. But every time after that…” Jon exhales, meeting her eyes, his gaze imploring. “I didn’t keep comin’ back to find out what’s on your menu. I kept comin’ back because of  _ you.”  _

Her heart flutters at that, hardly daring to believe it’s true. “I didn’t even tell Sam I came back after the time I brought him,” Jon says. “I don’t think any of my staff knew. I wasn’t here to… gather intel, or anythin’ like that.” 

“You should have just told me who you were, then,” Dany says. Jon’s shoulders sag, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. 

“Aye, I should have,” he confesses. “But I was scared you’d kick me out if you knew. And I didn’t want to risk not seein’ you again.” 

Dany’s still scowling at him, but she can tell it’s not as convincing as it was before, just from the gleam of light in Jon’s eyes. She can feel her resolve melting, his words playing over and over again in her head. 

He kept coming back for  _ her.  _ Not the pastries, not the information.  _ Her.  _

Jon smiles at her, that little grin that makes her heart thump, that she’s missed more than she can say in the past few weeks without him. “You were right, too,” he says, and her brow furrows in confusion. He shrugs. “You did beat us.” 

Dany laughs, looking over at the new plaque that’s joined her previous three. “I told you we would,” she says, grinning at him. 

“You deserved to,” Jon assures her, stepping closer. “Your lemon cakes are loads better than our apple turnovers anyways.” 

If any of her anger from before was still surviving, it’s truly banished with those words. With that smile on his face and that shine of his eyes. With the way she knows he  _ means it.  _

That’s all it takes, her self restraint crumbling away to nothing, and she moves forward, pulling him into her and finally,  _ finally  _ kissing him. 

Jon smiles against her lips, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her tightly to him, like he’s been waiting just as long. He tastes like vanilla, and his curls are so soft as she rakes her fingers through them, and  _ gods,  _ this must be what perfection feels like. 

“You’re still on probation,” she whispers against his lips as they pull away, foreheads pressed together. Jon chuckles, his hands warm and heavy on her waist. “If I catch you sneaking around my recipe books or anything, I swear upon the gods—” 

He cuts her off with another kiss, this one just as sweet as the first. Dany’s been baking all her life, and still, nothing has ever tasted so heavenly. “That seems fair,” Jon whispers. “And if it makes you feel better, I’m willin’ to offer up the apple turnover recipe as collateral. Given you go out with me, of course.” 

“You know,” Dany says, her grin brighter than the sun, “I have been waiting for you to ask me that for  _ weeks.”  _

She tugs him back down to her, kisses him again eagerly, and mentally, adds the taste of Jon’s lips to her list of reasons as to why she loves Sundays. 


End file.
